I Could Be That Guy
by GoingVintage
Summary: She's the lead in Jane Eyre: the Musical and he's an airplane mechanic. Two-part Puckleberry AU that's basically a love letter to this OTP, the city of Seattle, and my readers.
1. Part One

**Author's note**: Nearly five years ago now, I wrote two Puckleberry fics, _All Roads Lead to You _and _Baby, What a Big Surprise, _that explored Puck and Rachel in Seattle. At the time that I wrote those, I was living in a farmhouse surrounded by cornfields in Indiana. I'd never been to Seattle, but I instinctively knew that I'd love it if I ever got there. It had been a long-held dream of mine when I wrote ARLTY.

Four months ago, I moved to Seattle. Thanks to the amazing company I work for, I had the opportunity to transfer out here, so in August, we drove 2300 miles from our old home to our new one. I live twenty miles south of the city in a house where I can see Mt. Rainier when I step outside my front door, and I work in an office building that sits on Elliott Bay, where I can see the snow-capped peaks of the Olympic Mountains when I bother to look. Every single day, I see the ferries crossing Puget Sound – the same ferries where Puck and Rachel got married in ARLTY. What was just a dream a few years ago is now my everyday life, and I'm so thankful for that. As a dear friend told me recently, "It's kind of cool to watch someone's dream come true right before your eyes." Amen to that.

I haven't done much writing in the past few years because I have a pretty demanding career, and while I love it, it has sapped my creativity. Even still, I had the desire to revisit Seattle one last time with the greatest OTP I'll ever have. I'll never ship any couple harder than I ship Puckleberry, and I'll never love any city as much as I love my new home (even if the traffic is absolutely, completely HIDEOUS.) So consider this short, two-part fic a love letter to my favorite OTP in my favorite city, and to the many fans who still read my fics every day and send me nice reviews and notes. You guys are and have been amazing. Most of us have long-since quit Glee, but we haven't quit Puckleberry. And we never will!

* * *

><p>The cops are outside Noah Puckerman's house. Again.<p>

He strolls down the steps, guitar case and backpack over his shoulder, his eyes on the action across the street. The SPD have old Marty Willhousen shoved up against the cruiser. Again. Looks like he made an ass of himself. Again.

Puck shakes his head, a smirk on his lips, and veers across his yard and three others, in a hurry to get to the corner before the bus swings through and misses him. He dodges an empty beer bottle, what looks like some weave jerked from some poor bitch's head, and a used condom before he skids to a stop just as the bus pulls up. He nods to the driver as he climbs aboard, swipes his ORCA card, and plops down in an empty seat near the front. And older lady across the aisle gives him an appreciative look, her eyes practically bulging out and running over him like in the cartoons. He nods at her and turns away, hoping she doesn't try to hit on him, and stares out the window, watching the neighborhood whiz by when the bus picks up speed.

He lives in a little cracker box house in Rainier Beach with two other airplane mechanics. They all work for different airlines and on different shifts at Sea-Tac, so they're always coming and going. Between them and the chicks they bring home, it's like a fucking revolving door sometimes. Puck keeps telling himself that he's going to move to Seattle even though it'll make for a hellish commute, but every time he looks at the apartment listings, he nearly shits himself. $2100 for a 600 square foot studio? They fucking kidding? Sure, he makes good money, but if he moved closer to the city he'd have no money to actually enjoy the damn city, so he stays put on the edge of the ghetto with two guys who are bigger pigs than he is.

The buses are crowded on Saturday. The sky is blue and the winds are light, making it one of those perfect Pacific Northwest summer days that nobody believes they actually get out here. He figures everybody's heading out to Alki Beach or down to one of the weird festivals the city is always hosting. He knows where he's heading, of course. The most money from busking always comes from the rich tourists in the shopping district.

Puck can see that the sidewalks are thick with crowds as he nears his stop. The throng of people means his tips will be good, which translates into a case of some good beer in his future.

When the bus squeals to a stop, he steps off and slings his guitar over his shoulder as he eyes the sidewalk in front of him. It slopes downward for three solid blocks, and down the way he can see that the shoe shine guy has already staked out the best spot right outside the entrance to Pacific Place mall. Shrugging, he turns and heads toward the entrance to Westlake Center instead. Rich assholes shop there like crazy and the weird hippies hang out across the street. Puck loves it because it's like the blending point of Seattle's two extremes – the money and the stoners - and both of them like good music.

His backpack thuds to the ground next to his guitar case as Puck bends down. He gets a whiff of pot from somewhere nearby and cracks a smile. Has he mentioned that he loves this city? 'Cause weed is fuckin' legal here, even if he can't partake because he could get randomly tested for drugs at work at any moment. Since they have an issue with mechanics who work on machines that, if not working right, could kill scores of people, Puck gets it. He does… but damn, that weed smells _sweet_.

He pulls his guitar out, leaving the case open for tips, and arranges the strap around his body while his eyes apprise the crowd. Lots of Nordstrom's bags today bouncing against the Coach purses thrown over the shoulders of thin women with defined bone structure. Puck's grin broadens. The tips will be good today.

It takes him a few minutes to get settled, get the guitar tuned, and figure out what the hell he's going to play. For some reason, the tourists seem to love upbeat rock, so he breaks into a Journey song and smiles when the first rich chick tosses a five into his case after only a few bars.

Street performance is an art and Noah Puckerman knows he's great at it. He gets so lost in the music that he doesn't notice the hot little number in the short shorts and heels as she marches past him, her nose in the air. It's the first and only time he doesn't see her.

…

She's being punished. Rachel Berry can't prove it, but she knows without a shadow of a doubt that she's being punished for some unnamed transgression possibly committed years ago. It's the only logical answer to the question of why she was selected as nothing more than an understudy in her theater company's performance of _Jane Eyre: the Musical. _The idea of being an understudy after having had the leading role in _Mary Poppins _at the end of last season is unfathomable. Understudy roles are for people… not like her.

She steps around a scraggly skateboarder sitting against a building at the corner of 5th and Olive. With the kind of day she's had, the only thing that's going to make her feel better is retail therapy, which is why she checked her credit card balance before she left her apartment. She has exactly $184 before she hits her limit and she's fairly confident that she can spend that amount of money in 79 seconds flat. She hears her father's voice ringing in her ears while she stomps up the steps and enters Westlake Center. Rachel doesn't care what either one of her fathers says, she's not getting a "real" job anytime soon. Nana left her an inheritance which, until now, she hasn't touched, but that's about to change. She will not give up her theater dreams, even if that means dipping into her nest egg.

Sixteen minutes after she enters the mall, she leaves again, a Lush bag on her left arm, a Candy Tyme bag on her right, and $11 left on her credit card. The tension has eased from her body, partly because shopping is the greatest way to relieve stress (other than sex, which she hasn't had a lot of lately), and partly because the soothing smells in her two favorite store just sucks the stress from her body. She has every intention of tossing a bath bomb in a warm tub and soaking until her muscles are soft and relaxed (while enjoying a cinnamon sucker), but as she turns the corner to head back up 5th Avenue toward her apartment, she hears a faint rendition of one of her favorite songs. She slows her steps, her eyes searching for the source of the music. Her gaze finally settle on a tall guy, a guitar in his hands. She walks closer, not wanting to appear eager, but she loves his voice and wants to hear more. It's kind of gravelly, with a touch of rock and roll, and a lot of soul. He's singing John Legend's "All of Me" and the women in the crowd are eyeing him with a combination of lust and teenage infatuation. Rachel would roll her eyes but she can't because she can't look away herself. The guy's eyes are closed, allowing her a moment to appreciate the strength of his jaw and the strong veins and muscles in his arms and hands. His deep brown hair is closely cropped to his head and he's… well, he's rather cute, actually.

When the last strains of the song softly echo out into the crowd, he pops his eyes open and they seem to immediately land on her. Rachel finds that she can't help but suck in a breath. His eyes are penetrating, glittering almost, and they're searching over her face. Just when she thinks she's going to get woozy from the intensity of his gaze, he shoots her a lopsided grin and then turns away to thank someone who has just thrown some cash into his guitar case. When he looks at her again and winks, she blushes and turns away. She doesn't have time for flirty street performers, regardless of how handsome they might be.

…

Puck's entire body is aching when he gets home on Saturday night. He spent over four hours inside the landing gear of a 767, an asshole pilot screaming in his ear most of the time because the repair meant flights had to be delayed. He drops his backpack by the couch when he stumbles into the dark apartment. All he can think about is grabbing a beer and a sandwich and falling into bed. As he slaps some turkey onto some wheat bread and squirts mustard over the whole thing, he hears the bed in his roommate's room smacking rhythmically against the wall. Seconds later, the high-pitched wail of female meets his ears and Puck feels himself get hard beneath his scratchy work pants. It's been so damn long since he's been laid. He hasn't thought about it too much, but listening to Matt's flavor of the week cry out as she comes nearly makes him stick his hand down his pants. Instead, he leans against the counter and eats his sandwich, a little more than relieved when the house goes silent again. He goes for a bag of Cheetos and one of those little six-packs of Oreos when he finds himself thinking about that cute little brunette from last weekend. She was this weird mix of tiny and fuckin' sexy.

Puck shoves his napkin down in the trash and grabs a beer bottle, along with his snacks, and heads to his bedroom. He decides that he has a date with _Brunettes Love Anal, Volume 4_.

…

"I'm very sorry that you're going to have to have surgery." Rachel tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and bites her lip in the hopes that she appears demure and sincere, even as a thrill shoots through her small body. Her fellow actress and the woman who was, until 12 seconds ago, the lead in the musical, crosses her arms and looks unconvinced. "But ultimately, the most important thing is you, and you have to what's right for your health, right?"

"Yeah, whatever. Just don't fuck up the role, Rachel."

Rachel leaves the smile plastered on her face as her companion departs. Only when she's alone and the three locks on her door are secure again does she grab her iPhone from her purse and call her parents. As soon as Dad answers, Rachel screams into the phone, "Thanks to ovarian polyps with a 95% chance of rupturing in the next sixty days, I now have the lead, Dad!"

She hangs up with her fathers a few minutes later and glances around her Belltown apartment. She's broke, her best friend, Kurt, is out of town "finding" himself with a bunch of Tibetan monks, and her other best friend, Mercedes, is at a bridal shower for someone Rachel doesn't even know. She's so excited, though, that she can't stay home. She _has _to get out and celebrate.

…

It's one of those rare Fridays when Puck, Sam, and Matt all have the same day off. Sam spends an hour trying to cajole them into heading down to Déjà Vu into Tacoma, but Puck doesn't have enough money to waste any of it on strippers. Sam finally relents and the guys hop the Light Rail into downtown Seattle, arguing most of the way about where they're going to end up. Puck wants a burger at Blue Moon but Matt is craving seafood. Since he already shitted all over Sam's stripper idea, he gives into Matt and they head to the waterfront. After he stuffs himself with crab, the guys watch the tourists take pictures of themselves in front of the Ferris wheel for a while, then watch some stoners try to sell those same tourists some pot. They both have that snip-nosed, horrified look on their faces that signals that they're from the Midwest. Hell, they might even be from his home state of Ohio.

"Wanna get a drink?" he asks Sam and Matt as the sun starts to set over Puget Sound. Sam peels his eyes away from a dark-skinned girl with huge boobs and nods, so they make their way back up over the sea wall and head for Radiator Whiskey, their favorite little bar near Pike Place Market.

The bar is pretty packed when they walked in. Matt scores them a table near the back and Puck veers toward the bathroom to take a piss before ordering his first (of many) shots. When he comes out, he's re-doing his belt, his eyes on the floor. He hears an "oomph" before he realizes that he's run into someone. There's a woman stumbling backward, her tall heels about to give out on her. Puck lunges for her, his fingers circling trim wrists as he catches her. She barely weighs anything and she has a mass of long, shiny hair that nearly obscures her face.

Once she studies herself, the woman pushes her hair back off her face and grins up at him. Puck feels like he's been kicked in the nuts by the sex fairy. _Damn. _

"I'm so sorry," the woman says. "I was trying to the find the bathroom but I sink I've had too much to drink." She slaps her hand over her mouth for a second before she lets out a laugh and asks, "Did I say 'sink'? Oh my, I'm definitely tipsy. I'm so sorry. I need to get past you."

Puck's too busy watching her plump lips to even _hear _what she's actually saying. Even in the cruddy bar lighting, he can see that she's got this ridiculous bronzed skin (who the hell can actually get a tan out here?) and these sparkly eyes, even when drunk. She also looks like she's about seventeen, which doesn't do much for his nearly thirty-year-old self. Before he can even get his shit together, the woman slip-stumbles around him and disappears into the bathroom.

After he sits down next to Sam, Puck knocks back his shot and stares at the bathroom door. He's got this nagging feeling that he knows that chick or that he's at least seen her somewhere before. He refuses to look away from where she went because he's afraid he'll miss her coming back out. He ignores the conversation Matt and Sam are having (why farting in a hot tub is one of life's greatest pleasures) and waits.

It seems to take forever. Either she got a zipper stuck, or she fell in, or she fell asleep on the toilet. Something's happened, because it seems like ages before the door opens again and she comes out. When he looks at her from a distance and sees how tiny she is, the memory of her hits him at the exact same time that his dick gets hard. It's the girl from two weeks ago outside Westlake. The really hot one with the long legs who looked at him like he was dinner.

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and glances around the bar. When Puck realizes that she's looking for him and is now heading in his direction, he nearly chokes. It's his fuckin' lucky day.

She stops by the edge of their table, the look on her face timid as she says, "I'm so sorry for running into you back there. I'm just really excited and it's been a great day and I'm probably not making very wise decisions."

Puck studies her, letting silence fall between them. Finally, he asks, "What's your name?"

"Rachel," she says shyly.

With his foot, Puck pushes the empty chair across from him back until there's room. "You're welcomed to have a seat, Rachel," he offers with a smile. He feels like he's scored a touchdown when she accepts his offer.

…

By the time Rachel makes back to her building, she's sober. She's also been staring into the eyes of one insanely hot guy who insists that she calls him Puck for the last three hours, so she's horny. _Really _horny. It takes everything in her to climb out of the cab without inviting him to follow her. If he hadn't been with his friends, she's pretty sure they'd be half-naked against her front door already, but since he's got company and she's been drinking too much to be sure that this is 100% real physical attraction and not something sponsored by Johnny Walker or Jack Daniels, she controls herself. So she won't have sex tonight. It's okay. She's gone without sex for a really long time and it's not like she's really that experienced anyway. She's a sexually liberated woman living in a modern city where hook-ups are as common as sneezing, after all. It's just hard for her to have sex without getting emotionally attached, or worrying that _he _will get emotionally attached, and then it gets messy and it's just… ugh… it's just better to not go there.

With a guy like Puck (she's going to demand his real name when she texts him in five minutes), her strict rules are challenged.

Rachel kicks off her heels and teeters on unsteady legs as she undoes her bra and slides it out from beneath her shirt. It lands somewhere on the couch as she makes her way toward the fridge, determined to get about 32 ounces of water in her before she lies down. She's going to be hung over at rehearsal tomorrow and now that she's the lead, it's probably not a good idea to demand that she wears sunglasses the whole time, so she needs to mitigate what damage she can.

Her phone beeps from her cavernous Michael Kors bag and Rachel dives for it. There's an unfamiliar number on the screen, but she smiles because she knows who it's from.

_[You're probably too drunk to remember, but we've met before tonight.]_

Rachel smiles at the phone and drops onto the couch to text him back, curious at what he's getting at.

_[We have? Are you sure?]_

His response takes long enough to come back that she's starting to get sleepy. She reads it with heavy eyes. [_Yup. Well kinda. You watched me play outside Westlake a few weeks ago. Remember?]_

Rachel gasps, her eyes wide. She thinks back to that day and remembers the busker with the gravelly voice and overall hotness factor that was off the charts. She grins as she texts him back. _[I definitely remember. What's your real name, by the way?]_

_[Just call me Puck.]_

She's too sleepy to argue, so after texting him goodnight, she slides a silk nightgown over her head and crawls into bed. She's still tense from being horny and it takes her a long time to go to sleep.

…

Puck hates wearing dress shirts because they squeeze his neck and makes him feel like he's cutting his own throat. He glares at his reflection in the mirror and fixes the cuffs on his shirt before grabbing his leather jacket and sliding it on. When he looks at his reflection again, he smiles. He's damn good lookin'.

"Hot date?" Sam asks from the kitchen when Puck walks out of his bedroom.

"Yeah. Meeting Rachel for dinner."

"You think you'll actually make it to dinner?"

Puck ignores the knowing look on Sam's face as he pockets his phone and his keys. Sam's actually right. There's a great chance that he and Rachel won't actually make it to dinner at all. It's going to take all his powers not to pick her up and drag her to the bedroom like a caveman when he gets to her place. They've been texting for almost three weeks straight, but they haven't had a chance to see each other again because he's been on mandatory overtime and she's been rehearsing for her musical (which Puck's afraid he's going to have to attend if they keep doing whatever it is they're doing. Don't get him wrong, he loves music and supporting the arts, but musical theater is above his level of toleration.)

"We'll make it to dinner," Puck promises, the lie leaving his lips as he shoots a peace sign at Sam and heads out the door.

The bus ride into Seattle goes fast because he plays Candy Crush on his phone for most of it. He has to transfer once and when he finally gets off the bus for good, he has a three block walk to Rachel's apartment. The monorail rumbles over his head, faces of tourists peering down at him as it wizzes toward the Space Needle about a mile down the road. He finally gets to the address Rachel's given him and stares up at the building. It's an older, brick building sitting at the corner of 5th and Blanchard. There's a small deli and a nail salon on the ground floor and apartments on the other four floors with these tiny little patios, just big enough for two chairs. He wonders if Rachel's apartment has one as he lets himself in the building and climbs up to the fourth floor.

He's a little nervous as he walks down the narrow hall towards 409. When he likes a woman, it's usually on a pretty surface level without much depth. (His three-year relationship with his high school girlfriend, Quinn, is proof of that.) The fact is, though, that he and Rachel have talked about a lot of shit through text messaging in the past three weeks. Yeah, he's tried to sext her a few times, but the responses he got back were so awkward and terrible that he gave up. She clearly wasn't a sexter, even if she did tell him she was into it. (_Puck, I find your words quite arousing and I'd be lying if they didn't affect me. I'm not very adept at mastering the sexual arts from a technological standpoint, so you'll have to bear with me.) _So after he got past the hope that she was going to tell him that she was getting herself off thinking about him, he actually started learning stuff about her. Cool stuff. Like the fact that she is actually the same age as him and not seventeen, like he thought. And that she has two gay days. (She made clear to point out that they were gay. Considering they weren't living in some weird 80s sitcom like _My Two Dads, _Puck figured they were probably gay.) She was in her high school show choir and she took them to the state championship. She wanted to be on Broadway and she still wants to, but she knew she'd need some regional theater work to get there and she heard Seattle's was top-notch, which is why she moved here after she graduated from college. She didn't plan on falling in love with the city and now she's not sure she wants to leave. She even shared with him that she had a boyfriend that she thought she'd end up marrying who died right after they graduated, so he knows she's not some little spoiled princess who's never had a tough life. With gay parents and the death of dude she loved, she's actually had a few rough spots. That made it easier for him to tell her about his deadbeat old man, his younger sister who keeps popping out babies and expecting the government to take care of them all, and his ma, who, despite her best efforts, can't stay away from the bottle. He's pretty sure Rachel figured out pretty fast that he'd moved to Seattle because it was as far away as he could possibly get from Ohio without leaving the US.

Puck reminds himself to focus as he approaches the door. He raps his knuckles below the numbers and waits. He doesn't hear anything at first, and then hears a crash, followed by a high-pitched "shit", and then the door opens and Rachel is standing there. She's wearing an off-the-shoulder purple dress that barely covers her ass and shows off her long legs. Her lips are plump and shiny, her collarbone glittery, and Puck has to bite his lip to stop himself from bending down and sinking his teeth into her neck. He just wants to lick that skin and nibble hard enough on her to make her moan and press her hot little body against him.

"Hi, Puck!" She smiles at him and pushes the door open. "Come in!"

Puck slips his hands in his pockets to stop himself from grabbing her as he steps inside. The apartment is tiny. It's one of those studio apartments, but Rachel's looks like something out of a magazine. There's about ten different shades of tan and accents in deep purple. There's a big couch and squashy pillows and, shoved in a corner, a tall bed with a lush mattress. Thick and deep and clearly designed to handle the movements of two bodies rocking together…

"Dammit," Puck mutters to himself. He's got to get his shit together and his mind in the game. Focusing on Rachel, he smiles, "Your place is nice. You got one of those small patios I saw from downstairs?"

Rachel grins and grabs his hand, dragging him across the room (so, like, 15 feet) to throw open the windows that are actually patio doors. She's definitely got a small balcony, but since it's a corner apartment, she has a pretty cool view of the monorail tracks. He steps outside and braces his hands on the rail. "You ever hang out here?"

Rachel shakes her head. "Not really. I'm usually not home until very late. Not a lot of chances to sit back and enjoy the scenery."

"Damn. It's nice out here. I'd probably sleep out here if I could. I love cool nights."

Rachel rewards him with a smile that makes him a little weak. She's got one of those smiles that shoots rainbows and shit. It takes her pretty face and turns it vibrant. Fuck, she's beautiful.

"So…" Rachel begins, and then trails off.

Puck turns around and leans against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. "So?"

"So…" Rachel bites her lip and looks away. "I feel weird with you standing here instead of texting you."

"You want me to go into the bathroom and you shoot me a text?" Puck offers helpfully.

Rachel laughs and elbows him. "No, that's okay. It's just… we've already talked about so much. What if we run out of conversation over dinner?"

Puck lifts a brow. "You really think that'll happen?"

Rachel's laughter tells him all he needs to know as she locks her arm in his and pulls him back inside. With one longing glance toward her bed, he lets her lead him out of the apartment. He guesses they really _are _going to dinner, after all.

…

Rachel can't believe she's had such a good time tonight. She's used to dating Boeing engineers or Amazon software engineers, so her night out with an Alaskan Airlines airplane mechanic is something different. Certainly not ordinary. Puck is one of those cocky, handsome guys who can be charming, and, when he lets his guard down, pretty deep, and Rachel feels like she's on a roller coaster of surprises. For example, he was in the Air Force for four years after high school, which is where he learned his current trade. In all of their texting conversations, he'd never mentioned that. Now Rachel can't get the image of him in a uniform out of her head. It's actually a little distracting.

After they eat, Puck reaches out and takes her hand while they walk. It's a lovely summer night with the sun still high in the sky even though it's almost 8pm. They're not even really walking anywhere in particular. They just walk for a few blocks, turn, then walk some more. When she hears music, Rachel realizes that they're approaching the spot where she'd first seen Puck performing. He drops her hand, which makes her frown until he slips his arm across her shoulders instead. They stop and watch a thin woman play the saxophone. There aren't a lot of people paying her much attention. Rachel cringes when the woman hits an off note, but she notices that Puck digs into his wallet. He lets go of Rachel long enough to toss a five into the woman's case before he has his arm around her again and they're walking away.

"She wasn't very good," Rachel says, a little curious how he'll take her blatant honesty.

"No, she wasn't," Puck agrees, "but her arrangement was amazing. She took a pretty typical song and turned it sideways basically, and that shit takes talent."

"Why do you busk? You clearly make enough money doing what you do. Is it the thrill?"

"Partly," Puck tells her. "But mainly, it's just the music. I can play guitar for myself all day, but it's like I'm only at my best when I have people watching. It's kind of that thing where your parents tell you you're good at shit and you start believing them and then one day, you do that _same _shit in front of someone who isn't your parent and they laugh their asses off at you. I guess it's the need to validate that I can actually sing and write music and play guitar if I really want to, ya know?"

Rachel nods excitedly. "I know all too well. I was an eager, driven child—"

"No, shit, really?" Puck interrupts, his lips curled into a grin.

Rachel rolls her eyes at him. "Anyway, I sometimes was just so exuberant that people stopped paying attention to my talent." She pauses and cocks her head. "Okay, maybe more than sometimes. I was way too pushy and bossy and I made a lot of enemies. Instead of building other people up, I was out to tear them down if they stood in my way."

"Hold up," Puck asks. "Are you saying you're not that way now? Because I distinctly remember some shit about ovarian polyps…"

"If you'd let me finish, what I was going to say is that I _can _still be that way, but I'm aware of it now. I really still need that validation myself sometimes… that validation that the voice in my head isn't the only one telling me that I'm talented at what I do. So I get it… I think it's really awesome that you come out here and perform for strangers. Do you make a lot of money?"

"I can. Sometimes I do."

"What do you do with it? You're not exactly broke, you know."

They stop at an intersection and wait for the light to let them cross. She looks up at Puck while she waits for his answer and she notices that his cheeks are a little pink.

"Sometimes I donate it to our beer fund and… uh… there's this homeless shelter three blocks from my house and they seem to need a lot of shit so… sometimes they get it."

Rachel's pretty sure her heart exploded and then knitted itself back together, all in about a second flat. She can feel her breath catch in her throat as she blinks up at him. Talented _and _socially-minded? Oh, and hot? She just _might _be developing a crush.

…

After skipping drinks because Rachel doesn't want a repeat of a few weeks ago, they stop for dessert and then head back to her apartment. She's nervous because she doesn't know what she wants to do. She's so aware of his body as they walk. He has his jacket hooked over his shoulder, so she sees his muscles bunch against his dress shirt, stretching the fabric tightly across in places. When he excused himself earlier to run to the restroom, she'd appreciatively watched him walk away. A tight behind with strong thighs. And, based on what she observed as he walked toward her, a nice package rounds out the…well… the _whole _package. Yum.

Rachel would be lying to herself if pretended that she didn't want to sleep with him. Her body is keenly aware of the solid strength of his next to hers. Her nipples have been hard for at least the last two hours, and she's not even going to let herself think about the fact that she's wet. She can feel her body burning for his, and she can tell by the looks he's given her all night that if she invited him to stay, he wouldn't say no. She wants him in her bed, but if past history serves any lessons at all, she knows it'll only end in disaster. There will be sex, and it won't be nearly as good as she thinks it'll be, and then things will get awkward until they just stop talking. It's happened before, and even though she's pretty convinced that she likes Puck more than she liked other guys before him, she's afraid history will repeat itself.

When they get back to her apartment building, Puck pauses outside the door. Rachel knows he's waiting for her to call the shots, which she appreciates.

She places her hands on his chest. (_Oh, my god, he's so solid!_) "Tell me your first name?"

He stares down at her for a second, his gaze unreadable. His hazel eyes almost look green, his gaze concentrated only on her face. He's looking at her in a way that makes her pulse falter. He slowly licks his lips, and Rachel's eyes trace the tip of his tongue. Her heart picks up as she leans into him, ready for the kiss she absolutely, one thousand percent knows is coming.

"Noah." He tells her softly.

Rachel blinks. "Noah? Your name is Noah?"

Puck nods. "Yeah, although my Ma is the only person on the planet that calls me that. My boss even calls me Puck."

"Noah." Rachel tries out. "Noah… I like it."

One side of his mouth hitches up. "Figured you would."

They stare at each other for a few more seconds. People are passing them on the sidewalk while they just stand there, their eyes on each other.

"Fuck," Puck finally mutters. "Can I kiss you?"

Rachel nods eagerly. "I'd love it if you would."

When their lips meet, Rachel knows she's a goner. His arms snake around her and then she's pulled against his _very _solid front. His muscles are hard. Well, _all _of him is hard, she can feel. His kiss is firm, his lips so hot as they slide away from her mouth and along her jaw. Rachel tilts her head to give him free reign, her eyes fluttering closed. He flicks his tongue against her earlobe before pressing a kiss against the side of throat. Then his lips are on hers again, his tongue finally entering her mouth. He knows _exactly _how to kiss like this, Rachel realizes. His tongue plays with hers, taunting her until she's chasing his with hers, and then she's moaning and he's picking her up to hold her more tightly against him.

_Oh. My. God._

When they break apart, Rachel is wet and aching. She has her legs wound around his thighs and his large hand is now cupping her bottom. She wants to press herself against him and move, just a little bit, because the friction would be delicious.

"Damn," Puck murmurs. His eyes have a hazy, unfocused look to them, making Rachel proud because she knows she did that to him. "I knew it'd be like that."

Rachel smiles, a shiver running through her. "I did, too… which is why I'm not inviting you upstairs."

He looks a little surprised.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I really like you and I don't want it to just turn—"

She stops talking when he puts his hand over her mouth. He's smiling, though. "You don't have to give me a laundry list of reasons why you don't want to have sex with me tonight, Rach. I get it. Despite the fact that I'm hard as hell, I get it. I'm cool with it."

"You are?"

"This is the 21st century, baby," Puck tells her. "No means no. Can I walk you to your door, at least?"

Rachel nods, reaching to take his hand. She knows now that she's on dangerous ground with this man. She hasn't actually been looking for a man because she has zero time in her life for a relationship, but she told herself months ago that if she did make time in her life for a man, he would be handsome, friendly, funny, gorgeous, and obviously have a heart for the people around him. She's pretty sure Puck could be that guy.

* * *

><p>The second and final part coming very! Thanks for reading!<p> 


	2. Part Two

Puck knows he's got a problem when porn doesn't do it for him anymore. He's got his hand on his dick, he's all lubed up, _Brunette Blowjobs 8 _is playing on his laptop, and he's just not into it.

What the fuck?

The chick on the screen has a cock so far down her throat that her eyes are bulging, and normally that shit makes him come like a geyser. Today, he can't focus. He keeps thinking about a certain brunette that he's now taken on four dates but still hasn't seen naked. He thought porn would help him get over the constant sexual frustration that is buzzing through his veins these days. He figured he could just jerk off really fast and then be all cool and calm and shit when Rachel shows up later tonight. He's cooking dinner and she's joining the guys for poker night, so he wants to be all chill when she's here and he can't be that way if he's hard for her the entire damn time. But this fucking porn isn't working. The chick on the screen looks like a strung out junkie. She's all thin and her boobs are pointy in a weird, completely unsexy way. She's also got way too much makeup on, making her kinda look like Marilyn Manson. That thought is the quickest way to deflate Puck's dick yet.

Closing his eyes, Puck tries to generate his own porno. The bitch on his laptop is wailing now, and her screeches distract him, forcing him to let go of his own cock to shut her the hell up. Once he slams his laptop closed, he settles back into his mattress and grips himself again. Closing his eyes, he thinks about Tuesday's date with Rachel. Things have gotten progressively hotter between them and, even if she hasn't invited him into her apartment yet, she's let him get pretty damn far in the hallway outside her door. At the end of Tuesday's date, she was pressed against her apartment door, her dress soaked from where he'd sucked her nipples through the fabric. He'd only gotten two seconds between her thighs before she came to her senses and reminded him that they were in a hallway with security cameras, but those two seconds of his probing fingers told him everything he needed to know. She was trimmed, dripping, and she had a thing for thin, silky underwear. He'd been dying to shove his fingers or his dick or his tongue inside her and he probably would have if she hadn't stopped things.

"Shit," he moans. He's stroking harder now, his mind in that place where reality gives way to fantasy. When he imagines what it would feel like to sink three fingers into her wet heat, it's just enough to give him the release he needs.

It takes a few minutes to get his breathing back to normal, and then he has to wipe the come off his belly, but he feels better, like he might actually be able to function with Rachel in his house tonight.

…

After the third hand where Rachel wipes the floor with their asses, Puck realizes that she's played poker before. She's almost so good that he's a little scared (and a lot turned on.) Matt and Sam are, surprisingly, normal around her, making her laugh and treating her more like a little sister than a woman. This is good, of course, because if either one of them had so much as looked at her crossways, Puck planned on punching them both in their empty heads.

By 1am, Sam is $82 down and more than a little drunk. He's already broached the one banned topic in their shared house (how much Sam wants to fuck Matt's sister) and he's on his way toward telling Rachel about a few of Puck's past hook-ups when Puck shoots Matt a reproachful look. Matt nods and stands up and says, "Let's get you to bed, drunky."

Matt helps Sam to his room and then comes back to help Rachel and Puck straighten up. Puck is stone-cold sober, having only had two beers about three hours ago. He didn't know if he was going to need to escort Rachel back into Seattle tonight or if she was going to stay over, so he made sure not to get even a tiny bit tipsy. He's tried not to ask all night, even if he's dying to know. It's too late to catch a bus where she won't be robbed or raped, and he lives in a shitty neighborhood so he's not about to let her go out on her own.

After a few minutes of cleaning, Matt excuses himself and turns in, too, leaving Puck and Rachel alone in the living room. Puck loads the dishwasher with all the empty chip bowls, then turns to see Rachel on the couch, her feet propped up on the battered coffee table in front of her. She looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes sleepy.

"I had a good time, Noah."

He smiles when he hears his first name. She's been trying it on for size the last few weeks and now she's starting to use it more and more. He's used to associating it with being bitched at by his Ma, but now his name is being said in this sweet, throaty way that he's discovered he kind of loves.

He plops down on the couch and is about to put a hand on Rachel's knee when she curls against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He weaves his fingers into her hair and massages the base of her neck, making her let out a little grunt of satisfaction. She's so damn cute.

"The guys love you. Matt's not used to being around women, other than his mom and sisters, who aren't naked. He's kind of a whore, in case you hadn't figured that out yet."

Rachel chuckles, her eyes falling closed. "And Sam wants to be a whore with Matt's sister. I think I have it all figured out." She lets out a sigh, adding, "They just need to find the right women and they'll both get it together."

The comment kind of hits Puck right between the solar plexus. He and Sam and Matt would all be quick to point out that they aren't looking for the "right" woman. The "right now" woman, yeah. But the forever kind? Hell, no. The problem is that he's starting to think that he's found her, even though he hasn't been looking, and even though he's definitely not ready.

Rachel lets out a little hum before silence fills the room until Puck realizes that her breathing has evened out. She's asleep. He lets her snooze for a few minutes more before gently sliding out from under her and lifting her up. She weighs nothing, so he easily carries her across the room and into his bedroom. He's dropped her onto his bed and covered her with a blanket when she slowly opens her eyes.

"You can sleep with me."

Puck knows she means _real _sleep. He's okay with that, which surprises him. He jerks his shirt off and strips down to his boxers, pausing before he crawls into bed. Probably not a good idea to be near her with only one layer of clothing, because otherwise, she'll wake up in the morning to the sight of his hard dick poking out of the top of his boxers. He grabs a pair of basketball shorts and slides them on before climbing into bed with her. Rachel wraps around him, her limbs twining around his like the little spider monkey that she reminds him of.

He thinks he'll be awake all night, surrounded by the smells and sounds of this woman that's rocking his world, but he's asleep in less than four minutes.

…

Rachel can feel the sunlight on her skin before she opens her eyes. She takes a deep breath and the scent of Puck's room fills her nostrils. Deodorant. After-shave. Downey fabric sheets. Maybe a hint of Tide. And all that sexy, male skin currently lying next to her on the bed. A smile graces her lips as she opens her eyes and turns her head. Puck is lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other loosely touching her side. His long lashes are pressed against his cheeks, his face relaxed. He looks like an innocent child, which makes Rachel smile wider as she sits up to stretch.

Looking around the room, Rachel's relieved to see that he keeps it neat. She can tell he didn't do one of those fast clean-up jobs, either. His shelves are organized, his closet door closed. There's even a hamper in the corner and no clothes thrown on any surface.

Turning her attention back to the man beside her, Rachel lets her eyes roam over him. He's shirtless. The sight of those sculpted abs makes her let out a little moan as the reality of the situation suddenly smacks her in the face like a cold wind. She's spent the night with the guy she's seeing and that desperately, _desperately _wants to have sex with. Just looking at his body for 30 seconds has made her ache. (In her defense, his arms are lovely.) She knows that she has two options: give in or get out.

He's been more than patient with her. She's usually the one to jump him at the end of the date. They end up making out in front of her door until she puts the brakes on. She's not even sure why she's waited this long. Sure, it's only been four dates, but the amount of time they've spent texting and talking on the phone makes her feel like they've been out on twelve dates now. She's completely comfortable with him, loves his devil-may-care attitude, and really finds him generally adorable (in an oh-my-god-why-is-he-so-sexy kind of way.) So why is she stalling?

Rachel glances at his face again and nods to herself. She's holding back because she likes him _so _much. She doesn't want the sex to ruin things. She wants to keep him around for a while longer.

Even as she mills over that, she's pulled back to the here and now, when he's lying there in very little and she's completely aroused. Deciding to test the waters, she leans over and presses her lips to his collarbone. It's a tiny, gentle little kiss, which does nothing to satisfy her. She flits the tip of her tongue against his skin, drawing it up his neck to his jaw, and then she feels his hand in her hair as he growls out a good morning.

Pulling back, she stares down into his handsome face. "Morning," she whispers. Her eyes linger, locked with his for a few seconds. In those moments, she's hit with the fact that she doesn't want to wait anymore. The sex _isn't_ going to be bad with him. It's not going to end things. She lets her gaze linger a little longer, hoping she's communicated her consent, and then she pulls her eyes away and studies his lips. They're full and she wants to kiss them, so she does. As she leans into him, Puck's arms lock around her and pull her until she's sprawled on top of him, their bodies pressed together from chests to knees.

"You're sexy as hell in the morning," he drawls.

"You, too," she admits.

The air crackles between them before she leans in and slants her mouth over his. He lets her lead the kiss, which thrills her. She presses deeper, coaxing his mouth open and playing with his tongue. She can feel him growing hard beneath her and, _oh god, _it's so good.

His hand slides beneath her shirt and strokes her back while they kiss. The gentle glide of his fingers makes her shiver and kiss him harder, trying to communicate how much she wants him without having to say a word. His hand moves higher, not stopping until he's brushing up against her bra. She heaves a sigh of relief when he only pauses before quickly undoing it. Rachel braces herself on his chest and pushes herself up until she's sitting on his lower stomach. Their eyes stay locked as she pulls her shirt over her head and lets her bra slide off. He lets out a soft swear before his large hands cover her breasts. She closes her eyes and gives herself over to the delicious sensation as first his fingers, and then his lips, coax her nipples into hard points. She's so aroused that she's desperate to feel him, and her hand is reaching behind her to cup him beneath his shorts when there's a rap on the door that makes them both jerk apart.

"Puck," Sam's voice calls. "Gary's been blowing up your phone for an hour but you aren't answering so now he's calling the house phone. They have three 747s out of service and shit's getting backed up. He needs you to come in."

"Shit." Puck looks miserable, his eyes darting from the door, to her, and back again.

"You have to go to work?" Rachel can't even hide the sadness in her voice. She's so wet for him that her body almost hurts, and she knows he's hard, and they're not going to get to have sex. She wants to cry.

"Fuck," Puck shoves his fingers through his short hair. "I'm the on-call mechanic this weekend. When shit goes down and they get overwhelmed, I'm the one that has to go in." He screws his face up into a pout and reaches out to squeeze her nipple. "I'm _so _goddamn sorry, baby. Raincheck? You don't know how fucking pissed off I am."

Rachel does what she was going to do a second ago and reaches behind her until she finds the hardness beneath his shorts. She squeezes him until he groans. "Yes, I think I do know."

…

"So he just, like, pulled out and went to work?"

Rachel lobs a piece of her bread crust at Mercedes and rolls her eyes. It's been three hours since she left Puck's house and headed back into Seattle. Time has done little to nothing to quell her need; she's still so horny that she can barely stand it. She invited Mercedes out for lunch in the hopes that it would distract her, but it's not working.

"He didn't pull out! We weren't _there _yet. We were still very much in the stages of delicious and thorough foreplay, thank you very much."

Mercedes sucks down a huge gulp of her mimosa before shooting a grin at Rachel. "I haven't heard you talk about sex in a damn long time, girl, so it's good. I mean, you not getting laid isn't good, but the fact that there's a man in your life again? That's great."

"I'm so mad." Rachel's pouting now and she knows it, but she can't help herself.

"You're not going to see him again?"

"Ha!" Rachel laughs. "I'm not mad at him, I'm mad at the situation. I want him so much that I can't see straight. It just feels like it's been going on forever and we're never going to get to do it." She sticks her lip out farther, hoping to elicit further sympathy from her friend.

"Just text him and invite him to your place tonight, then finish that shit _off _when he walks in the door."

Rachel ponders this advice. "He's usually really tired after he gets off work."

Mercedes gives her an incredulous look. "Yeah, he's going to pass up sex. That sounds _exactly_ like what a healthy man would do."

"You know, I guess I could. I mean, I don't think we can go on another date until we get this out of the way. I'm too turned on around him to act normal anymore."

Mercedes snorts and then finishes off her drink. When she's finished, she shoots a pointed look at Rachel. "I can't wait to meet this guy."

…

Even though it's late, Rachel's not even remotely tired. After her lunch with Mercedes, she came home and sent Puck a text that invited him over to "finish what we started earlier." It only took him about seventeen seconds to text back a "hell yes", and then Rachel went into preparation mode. She took a long bath, shaved her legs, massaged expensive lotion into her skin until it was soft and supple, and then took a nap so that she'd have plenty of energy.

Now, as the clock approaches 11pm, she sits on her couch and waits. She ordered in Chinese food because she knew he'd be hungry when he got in, and he's probably going to want to take a shower, too. Feed her man (_he is her man now, right?_), get him a shower, and take him to bed. Her slow night of seduction is all planned out.

The knock on her door at 11:30 makes her jump. She tucks away her _Vogue _and stands up, running her hands over the silky, deep purple nightgown she's wearing. It's trimmed in black lace and Rachel thinks the whole thing looks amazing against her skin tone. Her nipples are already hard, and since she's certainly not wearing a bra, she knows he's going to notice.

"Hi!" She sings brightly when she opens the door. Her voice fades slightly because the man standing in front of her looks wrecked. There are bags under his eyes and his skin is sallow. Grabbing his arm, she yanks him inside her apartment, gets the three locks back in place, and spins to look at him.

"Are you okay?" She swallows as the last word comes out because his eyes, though tired, are now raking over her body. His cheeks, which moments ago looked pale, are now getting their color back.

"I'm fine," he answers after a second. "I'm great, actually. Long-ass day, but I pushed through because I knew this would be on the other end."

"This?" She laughs and moves toward him, planning on giving him a small peck on the cheek before she leads him to dinner. His arm wraps around her waist, though, and he tugs her against his body.

"Fucking thought about this all day," he murmurs against her lips. "Naked. Now."

Rachel laughs as she pulls back. "But dinner is ready! I ordered Chinese."

"It'll keep." Puck picks her up and carries her to the couch, where he unceremoniously drops her. She lands in the cushions and leans back on her arms, watching him as he whips his shirt over his head. His undershirt is thrown to the floor next, and then she listens to the jingle of the metal in his belt as he undoes it and jerks it, almost violently, from his pants. It clatters to the floor, joined quickly by his pants, and then he's standing in front of her in just a pair of purple boxer briefs that closely matches the color of her nightgown, momentarily stunning her. She can't help but think that it's some kind of sex karma.

With a smile on her face, Rachel reaches out and touches his thigh, and her grin broadens when he groans and closes his eyes. She slides her hand over the fabric, moving it around back to cup his cheeks. He grunts again, making her laugh until she focuses on what she really wants and cups him in her hand. His fingers move into her hair, but he doesn't guide her or tell her what to do. He's waiting.

Rachel leans in and kisses him through his boxers. He's so hard against her lips. She traces up his length until she gets to the head, and then she presses her tongue flat against him. She hears him moan her name and then feels him reaching behind her to pull her nightgown over her head.

"Let me." Rachel sits back and carefully removes her nightgown, folds it up neatly, and then places it on the corner of her coffee table. When she looks back up at Puck, he's giving her an endearing look. She reaches for him, opening her thighs, and he falls to his knees in front of her. The next few seconds feel like a whirlwind as he yanks her panties down her thighs, presses her legs apart, and fits his mouth between them. Rachel doesn't even hesitate or try to act shy. She weaves her fingers through his hair and pushes her body against his face, her hips jerking as he skillfully licks her. She's shaking and on the brink before she even knows it, and just when she thinks he's going to let up, he dives back in with gusto, his tongue gliding into her body along with his fingers, which makes her fly apart.

Rachel can hear the ragged breaths escaping her mouth and her own heart beating, but not much else. She watches through slitted eyes as Puck stands up and walks over to his messy pile of discarded clothing. He reaches for his jeans and yanks a condom from the pocket. His eyes never leave hers as he rips the package open and rolls it down his length. Her harsh breathing grinds to a halt, her lungs constricting, the anticipation just about to make her lose it as she watches him lazily stroke himself to make sure the condom is secure. She begins to recline on the couch when he shakes his head. He drops down onto the cushion next to her and pulls her toward him. Her body quivers as she throws her leg over his thighs, and then his hands on her hips and she's circling him with her fingers and guiding him into her. He slips into her easily and both of them moan as he's filling her. Deeper and deeper he goes until Rachel lets out a stuttering cry. He lifts her up, trying to establish the rhythm, but she shakes her head and pulls his hands off her hips. He gives her a confused look that gives way to desire when she links their fingers together, presses his arms against the back of the couch, and begins moving on him.

She feels like a goddess, totally controlling the pleasure for both of them. He's content to let her ride, meeting her halfway and thrusting hard into her. She begins to move faster, gripping his hands so hard that she knows her fingernails are digging into his skin, but she doesn't care, and she knows he doesn't either. His eyes, heavy-lidded and dark, are on her face. She watches his lips form a silent "O" as she squeezes her body around his and then picks up her pace. She can feel herself approaching the edge, and she chases the pleasure as hard and with as much determination as she's chased everything else in her whole life. She's seconds from coming when he jerks his hands from hers, grips her hips, and holds her in place. His face is contorted from pleasure as he empties himself into the condom, and the jerking of his body inside hers is the final push she needs. Her own orgasm arrives on a wail of pleasure, her body still moving as she comes around him. He holds onto her tightly, his fingers digging into her hips, but neither of them cares. Nothing matters but this.

Rachel's barely aware of anything outside her own body when she feels Puck wrap his arms around her. She settles her head against his shoulder, his body still inside hers, and lets out a happy sigh. "So… that was good," she murmurs.

She smiles when he laughs, and smiles even harder when he presses a kiss to her forehead and agrees with her.

…

Things only seem to get better _after _the sex, which kind of freaks Puck the fuck out. He's used to getting tired of chicks and finding new and interesting ways to ditch them, but that's not happening with Rachel. If anything, he wants to see her more and more. She's getting busier with her production, which he's okay with, but it makes it harder for them to get together, especially when he has to go to the next phase of his rotation and is stuck on night shift for five weeks. For the first two weeks, he doesn't see Rachel at all and he starts to get surly.

"Well what about Saturday night?" Rachel asks on a Tuesday. "Aren't you off then? I should be able to get done with all I have to do by about 8pm and then we can get together."

Puck doesn't want to wait and he tells her so. He hasn't seen her and he needs to kiss her and taste her. Like, he _needs _to. He feels like a junkie needing a fix.

"Okay," Rachel pauses, and then says, "why don't you come over when you get off work. I know it's longer on the light rail, but by the time you get here, I'll be awake and we can spend some time together before I go, and then you can sleep in my bed?"

Puck almost tells her he loves her in that moment, and he's almost stunned that the words had even formed in his mind at all. Unwilling to go there, he focuses on what he does know – he's seeing his girl in the morning and finally, _finally _getting rid of these blue balls.

The next morning, he's taking the light rail into Seattle as the sun comes up and ends up at Rachel's apartment ready to sleep right when the rest of the world is heading off to work. Rachel's up and ready for him, but before he can even sweep her into bed with him, she's dropping to her knees in front of him and unbuckling his pants. With her hot little mouth on him, her throat working to take him deep, Puck gives himself over to the fact that he's fucked in the best possible way. This chick, who can be both prim and proper _and _can suck him like a champ, is everything he's ever wanted in life. When it comes to women, he knows he's done. There's no point in even pretending. This tiny little thing is his everything.

...

They work out their schedule over the next three weeks, which gives them plenty of opportunities to see each other. The sex seems to get even better every time, too, which is blowing Puck's mind. He's always been one to take control in the bedroom, but he has no problem ceding control to Rachel. Hell, he's exhausted after a 12 hour shift anyway, and she gets off on taking the lead. Every once in a while, Puck turns her over onto her back and holds her wrists above her head as he fucks her into the mattress, but most of the time, he's happy to let her lead. Regardless of who's steering the boat, he falls asleep in her bed and she goes off and does her thing. By the time he's awake and showered, she's just getting home, and they usually end up in the sack again. Puck can't remember when he's ever had as much fun with a woman. For the first time in his life, he's blind to other women, and he loves the freedom it gives him to just focus on her.

Before he even realizes it, they've been seeing each other for close to five months. Summer has given way to fall and Puck's sat through _Jane Eyre: the Musical _about six times. He hates to admit it, but it's actually really good. He knows that's just because Rachel nails it each and every time, and he's not surprised when their three week showing turns into three months. The worst part is when her dads fly in and he has to meet them. He expects them to hate him on sight, so he's a little surprised when they both take turns hugging him and patting his hand while they talk. Turns out, her dads are pretty cool dudes. Way too sophisticated for his taste, yeah, but they clearly love their daughter and want the best for her. Since they seem to approve of him, he thinks that maybe they think _he's _the best for her, which is pretty damn cool. He's never wanted or needed the approval of two gay dudes so much in his life.

...

Fall finally slides into winter, and now it's rainy and windy. After two days of weather alerts on his phone about an incoming wind storm, they up the ante and talk about how this particular storm could be devastating to the Puget Sound lowlands. Puck's off work and not on call, and his only thought is being with Rachel when the storm rolls in. He's been through these things before and they're either innocuous or really fucking scary, and he doesn't want her to be alone. They agree that she's going to come out to his house, but the storm arrives early, before Rachel's had time to leave. She texts him that she's on a bus on her way, making Puck pace in front of his door while the winds begin got pick up more and more outside.

He checks his One Bus Away app for the 15th time and sees that her bus is due to arrive at the stop down at the corner in two minutes, so he dons his rain jacket and runs outside. He's relieved to see the bus swinging around the corner and slowing to a stop. When it pulls away again a minute later, Rachel is standing on the street, her backpack over a shoulder, the wind making her hair fly sideways from her head.

"Glad you're here," he tells her as he jogs across the street to get her. They have to dodge a metal trashcan that's racing across the yard, and Puck gets whacked in the eye with a frond from a pine tree on their way back to the house. By the time they get inside, his eye is watering and burning like he shoved a match in it. The lights are already flickering.

"I wonder how long you'll have power? They were talking on the bus about how the lights are already gone in Tacoma, so I'm sure we're next."

Rachel drops her bag on the floor and goes into the bathroom to get a washcloth, which she moistens and places on his injured eye. Even though it's not really that bad, he lets her. The look of tenderness on her face makes him pause and study her face. Her lips are pinched so he can tell she's deep in thought, but her eyes are warm and loving. His next actions are done purely on instinct. He he puts his hand over hers to still her and grab her attention. "I think I'm in love with you," he tells her softly.

Rachel freezes. The look of surprise on her face mirrors his own. He sees her swallow before she opens her mouth, but he stops her by adding, "Like, I know you need a guy who is faithful and upstanding and treats you like the princess you are, and I've always been kind of an asshole. I've cheated, I've lied, I've ditched women for no real reason at all… but with you, I realize that I could be that guy… the guy that actually deserves you and does everything in his power to keep you."

The lights flicker again, but Puck doesn't notice. He's too busy trying to remember to breathe. He's never told anyone in his entire life that he loved them (besides his Nana Connie and his sister, when she was tiny and sweet and not a whore like she is now.) He has no idea how these conversations are supposed to go, but the longer these moments of silence pass between them, the more freaked out he's getting.

Rachel removes the cloth from his eye and puts one hand on his forehead and the other on his cheek. She turns and angles his head to look at his eye in the light. "I think you'll be fine."

She steps away and Puck's heart falls. He's kind of laid all his shit bare and she's not saying anything which, to him, says everything. He didn't think he'd get dumped during a December windstorm, but he distinctly remembers dumping Quinn back in Ohio in the middle of a tornado warning, so maybe karma really is a bitch and she just takes a really long time to exact her revenge.

The lights flicker at the same time that something smacks against the window. Puck pulls his gaze away from Rachel and walks over to the window, jerking up the blinds to look out. There's a piece of a billboard pressed against the front of the house. He can only read a few letters of it, but he recognizes it from the one that's usually hanging above the street about four blocks up. The wind is really whipping now, causing the house to groan against the strength of the gales that are buffeting it. Rather than looking back at Rachel while he tries to figure out how he can back out of everything he just said, he continues to stare out the window.

"I feel the same way, you know," she finally says.

Puck's tight chest loosens to a manageable level the moment he hears her speak. He spins around and slides his (shaking) hands into his pockets, trying desperately to appear casual and unaffected.

Rachel is standing a few feet away from him, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "I feel the same way and it scares me. I've had my heart broken and I've experienced loss, Noah, so it scares me to admit it, but I'm not about to let you confess how you feel to me and not tell you that I feel the same way." She closes the distance between them and cups his cheeks in her hands. "I think I'm falling in love with you, too."

Their lips meet just as the lights blink out for good.

…

Things kind of steam roll after Puck and Rachel share that they "think" they're in love with one another, and everything that happens after that is, as far as Puck can tell, meant to be. It's a series of events that make Puck think maybe there are outside forces like angels or fairies or something, and that they do mess in the lives of humans. First, Sam finally _does _fuck Matt's sister, which causes the two guys to come to blows in the middle of a bar. Puck drags them both out before they can get arrested, but the damage is done. Matt moves out two days later, taking up residence with another mechanic who lives about five blocks over. Puck misses his buddy and doesn't hesitate to tell Sam that's he a moron for fucking up a five-year friendship just for some pussy. That gets him punched by Sam, and then he and Sam are fighting in the middle of the living room. By the time they pull apart, Sam has a split lip, Puck's got a cut on his forehead, and they're not speaking.

The next day, Rachel calls in a panic because her landlord passed away suddenly and now her building is part of a messy lawsuit between the guy's ungrateful kids. Everybody's being evicted because the terms of their leases no longer apply. Rachel's freaking out on the other end, but Puck's not. He says the thing that he's wanted to say for a while. "Let's move in together."

…

Rachel's in love with the apartment in West Seattle that she and Puck look at on a Saturday morning. There's lots of light streaming through the windows and, since it's on the ground floor, there's even a tiny little patio with room for flowers. (Rachel secretly dreams of getting a little dog, too, but she hasn't run it by Puck yet.)

"Let's take it!" She grips Puck's arm as they walk around the apartment. She's only been inside for about three minutes, but she already knows that it's "home." It just feels that way. She's even happier when Puck simply shrugs, smiles at the leasing agent, and asks, "So where do we sign?"

…

Living with Puck has its challenges, Rachel admits to herself. As neat as he can be, he leaves dishes everywhere and uses her couch cushions like a napkin when he's eating chips, which makes her mad enough to spit. The anger never lasts, however, because the moment he can see the smoke practically shooting from her ears, he's got his arms around her and he's whispering dirty words in her ear. It only takes a tiny bit of prodding from him to get her naked, and while she should feel scandalized that she's apparently a loose woman, she doesn't care because it's all for him. He's quickly become part of the dream she didn't even know she had, and when he shows up at their apartment on a Thursday afternoon carrying a tiny brown Dachshund puppy, Rachel can't even control herself. She presses kisses all over his face at the same time that the puppy is enthusiastically licking them both, and they both end up on the couch, laughing while the little furball romps between them. When she watches him fit a little collar around the puppy's neck and clip a leash on that's totally covered in shiny gold stars, her heart swells with the kind of love she didn't know she could feel. The vision of a thousand tomorrows pass before her eyes and she sees him first with their puppy and then with a baby, and then with more than one baby. When he holds his hand out and says, "Let's take this idiot for a walk and figure out what to name him", all she can do is grab his hand and let him lead her outside. A long time ago, she felt that he could be _that _guy, she's so amazed to realize that she was right. Then again, she shouldn't be surprised, because she is Rachel Berry, and when is she really ever wrong?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Thank you for all the lovely reviews on the first part! I wanted to reply to them tonight, but then I wouldn't have gotten this part finished had I done that, so I hope you don't mind! Thank you all for reading and for your continued support of my writing. I'm about to go play with some Olicity because Wednesday's Arrow gutted me!


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